


The Immortal

by blackenedfeathersfalling



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Biting, Canon? What Canon?, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Past Lives, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackenedfeathersfalling/pseuds/blackenedfeathersfalling
Summary: A new chapter in Missy's journey begins as she takes a position as a therapist at The Abbey. It would seem she has finally found the perfect job and friends until she discovers her new position may have been orchestrated by mysterious influences.  Through reconciling forces of darkness and light, Missy uncovers strengths and talents she never knew she possessed and an enduring love destined to create the meaning and purpose in her life that had eluded her.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue: The Devil's Bridge

Prologue

_Lucca, Italy 1611A.D._

Dense fog gathered at the base of the hills of Borgo a Mazzano.The skies were overcast, and the fog hung thickly over the Serchio River. Infrequent breaks in the clouds revealed brief glimpses of the bright full moon. Her attempts to illuminate the dreary night had been an exercise in futility as the clouds gathered in thick clusters once more. Still, the river reflected the moonlight as breaks in the quick moving clouds permitted.

Small puffs of white vapor escaped Lorenzo Sangvenea’s mouth in the cold night air as he neared his destination. His journey from Florence had been long and tiresome. When he informed the carriage drivers of his destination they regarded him suspiciously, some refusing to drive him. He could have used his personal coach yet doing so would alert his family to the grim errand that called him to the small town this night. Upon his arrival in Lucca he was unable to find transport to take him any further. Lorenzo had been forced to walk the remaining miles.

Despite his growing trepidation and fatigue, his strides remained confident, his head held high. Lorenzo had gotten where he was by projecting an image of confidence, to the point of arrogance. He had earned a reputation for fighting for and taking what he desired by any means necessary, and had become a formidable presence in the competitive and political landscape of the city of Florence. Bringing respect and honor to the Sangvenea name through the success of his banking venture had been his greatest accomplishment. Hard work and innovative methods were the keys to his success. There were those threatened by his new and original methods of thinking and those who would steal what was his and destroy what he had built. Rumors he was a heretic who relied on witchcraft and sorcery to achieve his success threatened to tarnish the reputation Lorenzo had sacrificed and toiled to establish. This was unacceptable and had to be stopped. But more importantly, the scoundrels had threatened his family. He had already thwarted an attempt on the life of his eldest son and had received word of a threat to his youngest. The wolves were gathering and he needed to act. He knew all too well the pain of the loss. After all, they had taken from him that which was most precious. And now they would pay.

Lorenzo felt the knot in his stomach tighten as the storied Ponte della Maddalena came into view. It had served as a passage over the Serchio River, used by pious fools on pilgrimage to Rome. He had no use for religion, preferring to rely on himself, his intellect, and instincts. He abhorred all things Christian, after they had taken her from him. However, he did respect the lore and some of the lesser known legends of the area, some rooted in religious beliefs. After all, he believed it was the loathing he held for The Church and its trappings that led to The Dark One’s offer to assist him in maintaining his position and protecting his sons. Lorenzo too was on a pilgrimage of sorts this night.

The massive bridge was partially hidden in fog, but he recognized the small arch at the base as the appointed meeting place. As he crossed the bridge there were moments his vision was completely obscured, prompting him to use the wall as a guide. His footfalls seemed excessively loud as his shoes struck the cobblestone of the bridge and time felt as if it stood still as he navigated though the fog. Lorenzo could feel his anger building, increasingly frustrated by his inability to see where he was going. He realized there was nothing to be done so carried on. Finally the thick murk began to thin and he could make out where the bridge ended. Relief washed over him as his feet stood on land. He proceeded to turn back toward the river to the first arch under the bridge.

A musty stench of scents permeated his nose as he stood beneath the arch. Scratching and then the brief sight of a rat scurrying along the facing wall elicited a cluck of disgust.

“Vermin!” he groused.

“Ah yes, but they serve a purpose as well, brother.” A silken disembodied voice remarked.

Lorenzo turned to search for its source. There was nothing. He turned back to face the wall. A striking yet comely man was emerging from the shadows. His height was imposing and his long slender limbs moved gracefully, almost hypnotic. He was dressed in black from head to toe, the material of his doublet had a dazzling sheen as the moonlight reflected from its surface. A swath of black velvet material was draped artfully over his shoulder, his hand rested casually beneath where it lay across his hip. He had the slightesthint of pleated trunk hose fitting close to his body, however, they were short enough to reveal his shapely thighs. Lorenzo resisted the urge to stare, painfully aware his body was responding to the man’s sensual beauty.

“I have looked forward to this occasion with you for some time, Lorenzo.” One corner of the man’s mouth curled as his eyes examined Lorenzo’s form.

“Dark Lord, I am most grateful for this favor. I am at your service.” He bowed his head in reverence.

“Mmmmm,” he moaned in approval, “such a loyal brother. You have my favor Lorenzo. Protection, wealth, and esteem, all will be yours.”

“Vengeance, you also promised my enemies would perish.”

“Of course my dear Lorenzo,” he sauntered closer, eyes sparkling in the darkness. He was so close Lorenzo could feel his breath on his face. He saw his features reflected in Lucifer’s dark eyes. The sharp planes of his cheekbones and angular jaw line were reflected in the half light. His smooth porcelain skin was translucent setting off the crimson color of his full lips. Lorenzo had never felt such desire for a man. 

“This is part of what you must do for me, you benefit as well. In order to seal our arrangement you must kill them.”

Lorenzo swallowed hard. He was frustrated he could not hold his characteristic calm demeanor. Yet the gravity of the situation would challenge the most stoic of men.

“I will do your bidding Dark Lord. You have been most generous.”

Lucifer ran his gloved index finger from Lorenzo’s collar down his chest and over his hardening cock.

“You will serve me well Sangvenea, there is blood in your name brother.” He slowly pushed Lorenzo until his back was pressed to the wall. “My Church will rise under the authority of you and your sons. You will imbue its doctrine with the ideals of this age and release my children from the tyranny of religion. In return I will grant you and your sons prosperity, safety, and immortality. Is this what you desire Lorenzo Sangvenea?”

“It is Dark Lord. I wish to be your instrument, your most trusted steward.”

“Then it will be done.” Lucifer removed his glove and cupped the left side of Lorenzo’s face. A pointed black nail rested just below his left eye. “I will travel with you to Florence and offer my gifts to your sons myself. Will they agree to serve me?”

“They will Dark Lord, I will see to it.”

“Excellent. I accept your fealty and make you mine.”

Lorenzo’s heart pounded in his chest as Lucifer pressed his body against him securely. He positioned his thumb in front of Lorenzo’s eye and plunged the sharp tip into his pupil. His body attempted to twist and writhe as the nail penetrated his eye, he gasped for breath under the pressure of Lucifer’s body.

“Only a moment more, my Dark Pope.”

Searing heat permeated Lorenzo’s eye. His body stilled as the hot pulsing sensation filled his head and traveled down through his body. Energy emanated from him, the light filling him and transforming every fiber of his being. Finally the pulsing began to subside. Lucifer removed his nail from Lorenzo’s eye. He smiled as he stepped back to gaze upon his creation.

“You will be my light throughout the ages and bring my children to me.”

Lucifer, appearing pleased with his work, again drew closer to Lorenzo, cupping his face as he pressed their lips together gently.

His lips skimmed Lorenzo’s cheek and traveled to find his ear. Lucifer’s sensuous whisper filled him, 

“You are my Emeritus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! These are my first forays in writing fiction. I've enjoyed the process.
> 
> The bridge, Ponta della Maddalena, is real, Here's a link if you'd like to have a look. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ponte_della_Maddalena


	2. A Room of Her Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know a bit about Missy and her life at The Abbey.

Missy exhaled the breath she was not aware she had been holding as she gently closed the door. Erick had been her last appointment of the day. The rest of the evening was hers. Given the demands of her research and substantial therapy caseload, there hadn’t been much in the way of “me” time. Missy realized the sad irony of this. She constantly advised psychotherapy clients to take time for themselves, but all too often neglected to do this for herself. One could not run on an empty tank.

She had a small dinner before her session so she could spend the evening with a good book and maybe a bath after she finished. Stretching her arms above her head elicited several pops and cracks in her upper back.

“Too much sitting,” she thought. Perhaps a run in the morning, or a yoga class at the University was in order. Exercise was self-care after all. “Practice what you preach, Sia,” she mused.

Leaning against the massive oak door she took in the sight of her quarters. Missy had only been there a matter of months but felt perfectly at home. She could breathe for once in her life. The days of giving the play by play of her daily activities or plans for someone else were gone. No one to juggle mealtimes around. No one with whom she had to pretend to be happy and perfect around. She sighed deeply. She still loved Sarah, her ex, but they were much better as friends than lovers. Given her line of work she should know better, right? Why had it taken so long to leave such an unhealthy relationship? Almost all of her colleagues had struggled in relationships as much if not more than most. The important thing was she left, and she finally had a room, a career, and a life of her own.

Outside her room, she had begun to populate her her life with good friends and acquaintances. For so long she told herself the story she was an introvert, bookworm, and devoted to her career…there was no time for friends. It wasn’t until she met “The Sisters” that she realized what she had been missing. Sister Jules was warm, spunky, and just plain fun. On Missy’s first day at The Abbey Jules had been the first to approach her near the main entrance hall.

“Ya look lost, love. How may I help?” Sister Jules’ Northern Irish accent was friendly and immediately set Missy at ease.

“I’m looking for Sister Imperator’s office.” Missy smiled weakly, the jet lag had set in the minute her plane touched down in London.

“Let’s freshen you up first? I’m Sister Jules by the way.” She held her hand out.

“Missy,” she returned, shaking Sister Jules’ hand, “but I don’t want to inconvenience…”

“Ah, not to worry, my dear. The old girl can be a force, I wouldn’t send ya into the lioness’s den unprepared.”

Jules proceded to take Missy to her quarters insisting she put her feet up and prepared tea and some sandwiches. They became fast friends. It had also been a happy coincidence Jules was the senior librarian and archivist for The Abbey. She was an invaluable resource in Missy’s research. But there were times they didn’t get much done. Once they started on an interesting topic the hours flew by. There were times Missy wondered how they could have so much in common when they were from different worlds it seemed. She never forgot Jules’ kindness that first day.

Sister Fefy had also become a dear friend. She was creative, resourceful, and kind. Fefy was also a woman of the world. Born in Italy, she was well traveled and spoke several languages fluently. Her primary role at The Abbey was as interpreter/translator. She attended clergy meetings with visiting foreign dignitaries at The Abbey. Fefy’s knowledge of foreign affairs was encyclopedic. She also translated documents, wrote correspondence, and helped publish press releases. These responsibilities resulted in lots of time spent in the library much to Missy and Jules delight. It was the site of their Friday Afternoon Clubs. They took turns supplying a libation of choice, chatted about challenges and successes of Abbey life, personal stories, and of course the gossip of the week. They had truly become the sisters Missy never had.

Missy smiled as she thought about the sisters. She picked up her phone to text them.

_Up for am yoga at the University tomorrow girls?_

They quickly responded.

_Brunch and mimosas after? If so, I’m in!_

She didn’t have to look at the sender to know it was Fefy.

 _Ditto!_ Jules responded.

 _Awesome! Carpark at 8:00_ Missy replied.

Satisfied she had something to look forward to prior to meeting with Sister Imperator, Missy put on the kettle for tea. Imperator. Jules wasn’t kidding when she described her as “a force.” She was protective of The Abbey and took her position as Abbess seriously. Their initial meeting was rocky at first. But thanks to Sister Jules hospitality, Missy was able to hold her own and earn Imperator’s respect. Following their meeting that day Sister Imperator showed Missy to her room. According to The Sister, she had been given “professional” status. She was to serve as The Church counselor, attending to the mental health needs of the clergy and siblings of sin. Her room was not as luxurious as the higher clergy, but it was significantly better than the quarters where the siblings took residence.

No one knew how old The Abbey really was. It had been renovated and expanded a number of times over hundreds of years. There were still ruins on the campus dating back to 712 AD. Therefore, the rooms were rich in character with impressive architecture. Astride the large fireplace were built in recessed bookshelves soaring over fifteen feet high. They contained her massive library of academic textbooks, psychology texts and journals, and a collection of Greek and Roman mythology. There were a few favorite fiction titles in one area but she never tired of the classic myths. So much so it had become part of her research.

Two narrow arched windows stood opposite the door with long gray velvet curtains swaged to either side. She sauntered over to the windows and looked out on the grounds. It was a stunning view and she never tired of it. The gardens were to the South of the campus. Several benches and expanses of lawn made the perfect space for watching sunsets. It was early March in Southern England. Sunsets still occurred early so this was not an option for her as her last appointments generally ended around 7:00 pm. On the North end of the building was the driveway to the main house where the higher clergy and meeting rooms were housed. An arched driveway curved in front of the main doors, she had a prime view of the comings and goings of the various VIPs visiting The Abbey. Just beyond the front doors was a helipad. The Abbey was situated some distance from the major cities, London was 2 hours away by car. Dignitaries were often flown in for Rituals or consultations with The Clergy. This was also useful in the event anyone on the campus required emergency care beyond the basics, which had not happened since she had been there.

Missy kicked off her high heeled Mary Janes toward the vicinity of her closet. She quickly entered a few notes from her last session while the kettle finished warming. She poured the hot water over a lavender Earl Grey teabag and leaned her head down to take in the delicious floral scents and bergamot. Must be the British blood. Her father’s parents had emigrated to the United States when he was young. She had effortlessly taken to the landscapes and creature comforts of her new home. She found these to be far more refined and subtle than her hometown of Omaha, Nebraska. She never felt at home or that she belonged there. She’d always had the sense she belonged in another time and place.

Now that she had been with The Abbey for a time she would ask Imperator if there were accommodations separate from her quarters to conduct her sessions. It was not ideal practice, to see patients where you lived. Personal space should ideally be kept separate. For one, there were privacy issues for the therapist which could create problems establishing boundaries. And secondly, it left some odd energy…she never would have given credence to such a thing two years ago but it was true. At times it was difficult to shake the weight of material expressed in that space.

It had been one of those days where the emotional residue of the sessions made the room feel somewhat oppressive. A walk around the grounds might help “exorcise the demons” and would likely help her sleep. She had forgotten tonight there would be a full moon. Hopefully the clouds had cleared enough for a nice view. Missy tried to get outdoors in the evening to “moon bathe” whenever she could. Her colleagues would think her ridiculous but she honestly felt more peaceful, centered, and energetically refueled after this practice. It was a form of self care for her.

After finishing her tea, she changed into jeans and an oversized sweater. Tall black wellies seemed the best bet as it had just rained outside and the gardens might be a bit muddy. She grabbed her raincoat as she left her room and headed for the The Abbey gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout out to The Sisters who supported this work and encouraged me to post. Sister Jules provided invaluable feedback and boosted my confidence and Sister Fefy who proofread the Italian (coming up in a few more chapters) and has given me enthusiastic support. Several other sisters have supported and encouraged along the way and will be making appearances in future chapters. Thank you so much, Sisters. Love you all!


	3. Artemis and Orion

As she breathed in the cool night air, Missy instantly felt the cares of the day leave her. A few feathery wisps of clouds remained framing the shimmering moon. She walked toward the gardens and found a bench near a row of rose bushes. Droplets of rain remained on the bench from the showers earlier in the evening. She brushed them off as she admired the roses situated behind. Silvery moon light cast an otherworldly glow on the dew kissed red petals. Their fragrant scent lingered as she sat.

Stars were visible through the clouds as they slowly floated across the sky. It was an incredibly beautiful sight, the tops of the clouds gleamed white and silver reflecting the moonlight. Missy had been drawn to the moon since she was very young. Memories of her father pointing out the constellations came flooding back to her. She could almost hear his deep voice.

“Missy, let’s visit your friends,” he would say.

He held her on his lap and pointed out Ursa Major and Minor, Capricorn, Cancer, and Leo. She had thought about those nights often since arriving at The Abbey. The chill of night air, the warmth of her father’s embrace. She could almost smell the scent of his pipe smoke and the scotch he drank in the evenings as he reviewed student papers. He was a professor of Greek and Roman mythology in the Classics Department at Creighton University in her home town, Omaha, Nebraska. She delighted in the myths he told her about how the constellations came to be. He never spoke down to her and answered each and every question thoroughly and patiently. She felt he had nurtured her curiosity and love of learning.

Their bond was a close one. Missy’s mother later confided she was a bit jealous at times but saw how the relationship fed Missy. He passed away when Missy was 10 years old, the loss was extremely difficult for both she and her mother. Missy stopped speaking for several months. Her mother would find her asleep on the porch swing in the back yard for months after he died.

A voice from behind broke her reverie, “Good evening.”

Missy turned to find Papa Emeritus III standing near the rosebushes. Wearing a black overcoat, scarf and pants he was nearly invisible save for the white skull paint and silver reflected on the buttons of his coat.

“Papa, I didn’t see you there.”

“I’m afraid I startled you sister, please forgive me.”

“It’s fine, please.” She motioned to the seat next to her on the bench.

She blessed the darkness as her face flushed at the sight of him. Papa was one of the more interesting inhabitants of The Abbey. She had heard the gossip about him. He could be temperamental and moody for one. This was based on remarks she had heard from Sister Imperator and Papa Emeritus II.

“He refuses to listen to reason.” Imperator had let that slip last week in response to Papa’s request that Missy seek more treatment hours for a few of her more involved patients. The increase would have pushed the limits of the budget allotted for mental health care. When Missy pointed this out to Papa he had waved a hand dismissively saying he trusted her recommendation and concessions would be made. The health of the siblings and clergy was the priority.

“Actually Sister,” Missy had hesitantly responded, “he based the decision on my recommendations.”

“I see.” Sister had looked at Missy with a raised eyebrow. “Well then, we will find a way to make it work.”

Papa Emeritus II had also been one to complain about Papa. The higher clergy met with Health Care Services twice per month to discuss operations, department budgets, and quality control. The brothers had engaged in a heated debate regarding renovation of the hospital facilities onsite.

“There is no decision here, brother. These areas have not been renovated since the 60s. They are outdated and even contain structures and insulation that may be harmful to the patients. The building funds must be approved.” Papa had insisted.

“Fratellino, look at the price tag.” Papa II spoke with condescension, his voice dispassionate and monotone. “As usual you choose the most expensive proposals. Your papacy will bankrupt this church, not a legacy to be proud of.”

“Your problem is your lack of vision, Giovanni.” Papa’s eyes were seething but his voice remained calm. “This is not frivolous spending, it is entirely necessary to care for all our followers and clergy. It is an investment in the future of our church. My legacy will be remembered for its innovation and progress. Not that of a Pope too set in his ways and afraid to risk. You are no longer Papa, old man.”

Of course this did not sit well with II and he stormed out of the room. The proposal was voted in unanimously.

Among the other clergy and siblings the prevailing topic of discussion when it came to Papa was his promiscuity. It was said there had been a revolving door of siblings and clergy who spent time in his bedchambers and he had salacious proclivities. Some of the stories Sister Jules and Sister Fefy told raised Missy’s eyebrow more than once…and she had heard some zingers in her line of work. At the end of the day, it was his business what he did behind closed doors. She was not one to shame anyone for their preferences as long as there was consent, no laws were being broken, and no one was being harmed in any way.

Personally, Missy found the rumors did not jibe with what she knew of Papa. He had been nothing but respectful, cordial and polite to her. He would listen with the utmost concern as she presented reports on the siblings and clergy members she saw in therapy sessions. This was a task he could have easily delegated to a junior member of his staff, but he had insisted on receiving the reports first hand. From what she had experienced of him he seemed to care deeply for them and felt each brother, sister, and member of the higher clergy were his responsibility and his alone. She admired his dedication but wondered if there was a deeper seated reason he felt such an intense obligation. He also appeared to value her work with the clergy.

There was no denying she felt an attraction. At first Missy thought it was how he was with everyone. He had an ease and charm about him it appeared no one could resist. But some of his gestures and habits were endearing and oddly familiar. She found it impossible not to stare when he absent mindedly ran an index finger over his lower lip while reviewing a report or considering something she had said. He’d caught her a few times while she gazed at him, transfixed. She would quickly avert her eyes and resume the conversation, but not without noticing the most subtle hint of a smile crossing his lips.

Professional distance, she reminded herself. She was not going to risk her career and all she had established in such a short time for a fling with the leader of The Church, regardless of his unrelenting charm and mystique.

Papa sat on the bench beside her and looked up to the sky.

“Such a lovely evening this turned out to be. I was afraid the moon would not be visible tonight.” He turned to look at her, smiling warmly. “Do you come here often?”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“I do actually,” she turned to face him, “if the weather cooperates and I’m not too tired. I try not to miss the full moon.”

“It is lovely tonight, yes sister?” his gaze shifted from her back up to the sky.

“It is. I’ve asked you before Papa, please call me Missy.”

“Yes, Missy,” he paused and repeated, “Missy, is it short for something? Or how do you say…”

“Diminutive?” she was asked this question often and always dreaded it. “No, I’m afraid not,” she lied, ”my father just liked the name.”

He regarded her again with a knowing smile, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” His white left eye glowed in the moonlight.

She laughed nervously. He had never flirted with her before. “Do you come here often, Papa?”

He chuckled, “Why yes, I’m in this very garden almost every night, my dear. I do not sleep well, you see.”

She puzzled over that, she had never seen him there before. In fact she typically did not encounter anyone during her nocturnal garden visits.

“Tell me,” he shifted to continue gazing at the moon, “what brings you to the gardens to visit with the stars so often, Missy?”

She sighed looking up into the sky. “When I was young, my father used to sit with me in our back yard and tell me the stories behind the constellations.” Why was she telling him this? “My favorite was Orion and his hunting dogs.”

“Canis Major and minor.” He added.

“Yes, that’s right. They are only visible for a few more weeks and won’t return until midsummer. Do you know the story?”

“I do, Orion was a hunter and recluse who lived on an island hunting by night and sleeping during the day. The beautiful goddess, Artemis, on her nightly travels across the sky, drew her chariot guided by winged horses to deliver the moon to its place in the night sky. Artemis regularly flew over Orion’s island.”

Missy noticed the odd way he pronounced Artemis. He dragged the last syllable pronouncing the “i” as a long “e.” Maybe it was simply due to his accent?

He continued with the sad tale of the star-crossed lovers and recounted how Artemis’s father and brother slaughtered Orion.

“In her grief, Artemis placed her lover’s body and his faithful dogs among the stars. He is still visible to this day.”

He pointed out the three stars of Orion’s belt, then his arms, legs, and shield.

Missy could feel tears welling in her eyes. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, _“Artemis was a beautiful goddess, just like you, my darling. You were named for her.”_

As a child Missy often wondered if her father was in the stars as well. At one point she asked her mother if he was up there, keeping Orion and his hounds company until they could join him. This idea soothed her as a child, she still found it comforting. Had she placed her father among the stars? She missed him so much.

She turned to see Papa regarding her with a concerned expression. He reached over and placed his hand on her arm.“What is it, cara?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just,” her voice trailed off as she was taken in by his gaze.

His eyes were mesmerizing. A muddled haze overcome her as she stared into his glowing left eye. What was happening? _She saw a large room, brightly lit with plastered walls. There were large canvases and easels stacked against one of the walls. There was a bed against the opposite wall and a figure leaning on the pillows. It was a man. He looked like…_

A drop of rain fell on her cheek breaking her trancelike state. She was suddenly aware she had been staring at Papa and could feel the warmth in her cheeks rise again.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Please don’t apologize, my dear, it was…” a rain drop fell on his face.

Clouds were moving in quickly. At the moment they both looked up, the rain poured down. Missy’s hands instinctively covered the top of her head. She realized had left the hood for her raincoat in her room.

Papa laughed. “Come here, amore mio.”

What in the hell? She thought. My dear, now my love? It had always been “sister.” Surely he didn’t have designs on her. She was no spring chicken for one thing, she was a older than most of the others at The Abbey. Second, she didn’t think she was anything spectacular to look at. Papa was usually seen with some of the most attractive siblings. And third, she was more the bookish sort. Not at all the type she had supposed he would be interested in.

He took her hand, pulling her close so he could hold his coat over their heads. They started to run back toward The Abbey. It was a bit like a three-legged race as they both struggled to stay under the coat. They laughed as they tried to synchronize their steps nearly tripping on a few occasions. Finally reaching the arched portico in front of the main entrance, Missy leaned against the wall. She was out of breath but still laughing.

Papa squeezed her hand tighter, she hadn’t realized he was still holding it. She looked up to see him regarding her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. His face paint was smearing revealing almost porcelain white skin underneath. Her hand reflexively traveled up to his face. She removed the remaining white paint from his lower lip. Even though her brain doubted and fought, there was a stronger sense she knew him, and loved him.

She pulled her hand back abruptly. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me tonight. Please forgive me. This isn’t like me at all.”

He slowly drew her in toward him and returned her fingers to his lips holding them there. What on earth was he doing? She held her breath. Normally so in tune with her feelings, Missy was struggling to grasp what was happening. She began to shiver uncontrollably. Not from the cold but something else, she wasn’t sure exactly what. Papa sensed her discomfort and took a step back. While the distance was a relief, it pained her to see the despair in his expression.

“You are cold,” he said, “let’s get you inside.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they reached the door to her room, Papa paused outside.

“I should go my dear, it’s very late.”

“Come in, just for a moment,” she implored. There was something he wasn’t telling her. And she was going to get to the bottom of it. “Let me get you a towel Papa. Please sit. ”

She motioned toward the wingback chair in front of the fireplace.

He hesitated at the doorway, searching her face. He finally entered and closed the door behind him.

Missy returned with a few wet and dry washcloths draped over her forearm and two glasses of 18 year Macallan Scotch. An extravagant indulgence, but the leader of The Church, visiting seemed a worthy occasion. The scotch had been a gift from her mentor and favorite professor as a going away gift. When she left the US for England, they both knew it was unlikely they would meet again. Professor Meier was in his late eighties by now and becoming more frail by the day. Their weekly Thursday ritual as she prepared to defend her thesis was an hour of reviewing sources, a half hour of mock defense questions, and however long it took to catch up on the events of the week over a glass of scotch. He had become like a father to her. Professor Meier and his wife never had children. He called Missy his adopted daughter.

Papa was kneeling in front of the fireplace. He had placed another log on the fire and was breaking up the burned logs beneath.

“Here, this will warm you.” She sat beside him and handed him one of the glasses.

“Thank you.” He said. She extended her arm to offer him the towel. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble but I appreciate your hospitality, Missy.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Papa. I wanted to talk to you about what happened under the portico earlier.”

He gave her a wry smile, “Yes, I thought you might.”

Noting his hesitation, she said, “But first, let’s drink. Cheers.”

She raised her glass then held it beneath her nose. Missy inhaled the smoky aroma of the scotch as she slowly took a small sip. Briefly holding the sip in her mouth allowed the bouquet of fruit and spices to coat her tongue, she closed her eyes and swallowed. The warmth of the velvety liquid traveled down her throat to her chest. Professor M used to say, “The first sip is always the best.”

When she opened her eyes Papa was staring at her, his mouth slightly agape.

Appearing to regain his composure, he cleared his throat and raised his glass, “Saluti, my dear.” He proceeded to take a sizable gulp and swallowed quickly. Missy watched as Papa’s face turned beet red. He coughed spraying a bit of the scotch across her chest. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

“Are you okay?” She handed him another towel. “That was a rather large sip.”

“It’s stronger than what I usually drink.” His voice was strained. “I am so sorry, I am more of a wine drinker.” He looked utterly dejected.

“It’s no problem at all.” She took his glass. “Would you like wine instead?”

“Maybe just water would be best.” He sighed.

This wasn’t like him at all, she thought. Papa was normally so confident and charming. She had never seen him this awkward. It appeared he was painfully aware of his uncharacteristic behavior.

She returned with a glass of water.

“Now Papa,” she began “what is going on with you this evening? You seem nervous. Also, I don’t want to offend you, but you’ve been much more familiar than in our other meetings. I always enjoy your company, but I value this job and…”

He abruptly stood and placed his glass on the table muttering something in Italian she couldn’t quite pick up.

She also stood to address him, “Papa I’m sorry, but you understand it’s my responsibility to discuss…”

He turned to stand in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Oh Satan, she thought, he is clearly not getting it.

“You are right. I am overstepping. Please Artemisia, I do not know how much time I have with you. I’m afraid I cannot take this as slowly as you would like.”

She shrugged his hands off her shoulders “Just wait right there. What do you mean you don’t know how much time you have? And how did you know my name?” she demanded. “No one knows my real name except my family.”

His eyes met hers once again, his white eye appearing to glow. Her breathing slowed and the hazy sensation returned. It was as if time stopped. Why was he doing this? She had worked so hard to get here and she wouldn’t lose her position. She loved The Abbey, her work there, everything about it.

Yet part of her wanted so badly to give in. She had felt drawn to him from the first time she met him. Some invisible force was pulling her to him since that day. It was even more puzzling to her that she felt safe with him. She hadn’t had that sense since she was very young. What was it about him?

She set her glass down and raised her hand to cup the side of his face. As she rubbed his cheekbone with her thumb, some of the paint came off. The rain had already smeared it in several places, the streaks revealing pale translucent skin underneath. She reached for one of the damp towels and drew closer to him. She smoothed the cloth in long firm strokes folding the towel repeatedly to to expose a clean surface. Each time Missy removed more of the paint, his skin reddened. The fibers of the towel were coarse which helped with the removal but were irritating.

“I’m sorry, these are so rough…” she began.

“It is fine, cara,” he took the towel from her hand and kissed the palm, “I want you to see.”

He gazed at her imploringly, as he retrieved a fresh towel to expertly remove the rest of the paint. A makeup remover would have worked better to reduce the friction, she thought. No doubt it’s what he probably normally used. Traces of black still lined his eyes. She took the towel from him.

“Your eyes,” she mused aloud, “let me.”

He closed his eyes as she rubbed off the remaining black as gently as possible. It was as if she was placing the final piece of a puzzle. She knew his face. But from where, who was he?

She tucked the locks of raven hair that had fallen into his face behind his ears, then traced the lines of his jaw, and cheekbones. Each line, texture, and shape was familiar. Cupping both hands on either side of his face, she gazed into his eyes once more.

_The same large room. It was an artist’s studio. The reclining figure on the bed of the opposite wall was coming into focus. The face was his. He was gazing back at her with a seductive smile, the right corner of mouth upturned._

His expression appeared hopeful, his gaze warm and tender. She traced his bottom lip with her thumbs. So smooth and soft. She wanted to kiss him more than anything. Instead she rested her head on his chest and circled his waist with her arms. Tears welled in her eyes.

She whispered,“Marco?”


End file.
